Eyesore
by waywardvictorian
Summary: A companion to "Ancient" Sirius has never been fond of that damn green daybed. Pairing: Sirius/Harry


Prompt: Eyesore  
Pairing: Sirius/Harry

A/n: I hadn't planned on adding to any of the one shots I've written, but a friend of mine gave my "Eyesore" as a prompt this got firmly stuck in my head, and thus "Ancient" got a companion. As always I hope you enjoy and feed back would be a beautiful thing.

Also I would like to thank Ariaeris for betaing this for me.

-V

Disclaimer: Don't own.

It was an eyesore. Sirius found no other way to describe it, and yet here he sat, just like he had the day before, his back against the wall, next to the door, in its shadow.  
That damned daybed was an eyesore. It sat in the center of the room hidden behind the library, the one Harry had found that summer.  
Why couldn't Sirius tear his eyes away?  
The cursed, faded green day bed, the one on which Harry lay lounging in the sun. The one on which Sirius had kissed him, back when the room had been filled with warm sun light.

Now the sky was an overcast grey. Fat snowflakes fell lazily in the misty light. The small balcony, outside the double doors was covered in a blanket of white powder.  
Since the summer, Sirius found he was useless to the Order. It was something he had struggled to accept, nearly as hard as the plain fact that he cared for Harry far more then he ought to.

Frustrated and infuriated with himself, he couldn't face those who currently inhabited the house, his house. When meetings ended, he would vanish up stairs, not to be seen for hours – or days – later. The often knocking over the umbrella stand, and common screeching of his mother's portrait were all more reasons to make oneself scarce.

So instead he locked himself in the small room in the farthest back corner of the old house more and more frequently, contemplating whether he had made a grievous error regarding Harry.  
Because he was locked in the farthest corner of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, he didn't hear the gaggle of Weasley's, plus two, turn up.

In his despondent mood, Sirius had lost track of time; he hadn't realized that it was nearly Christmas and Harry and his friends would soon arrive to spend the holidays at Grimmauld Place. If he had known, he wouldn't have fallen asleep.

Harry arrived at the door of Grimmauld Placeecstatic. He was away from Umbridge's hellish grasp, and more importantly, he was going to see Sirius.

His excitement didn't last long.

Ron and Hermione had become exasperated by Harry's over excitement to return to what they considered a very dreary house, made even gloomier by Sirius's moping. While at Hogwarts, Harry had been increasingly sullen. His moodiness was interspersed with brief bouts of fury, at the school, the world, but mostly at Umbridge. So at least his excitement posed a nice change.

Hermione was at first extremely please that Harry cared about something other than Quidditch, but by the time they arrived, she was ready to hex him. She thought the train ride was totally unbearable; all she wanted to do was to catch up on some light reading on spell theory. But Harry and Ron's animated yammering made it impossible. By the time the train reached Platform 9 ¾, their compartment was packed.  
Hermione never dreamed that she would one day wish, however half heartedly, that she didn't have quite so many friends.

The group's exuberance built up considerable on the ride, so that by the time they reached the grimy door toGrimmauld Place, they were all as excited as Harry, but that may be due to the experimental sweet Fred and George slipped in the water.

The large group of mostly red heads shuffled into the narrow front hall, careful to avoid banging their heads on the hanging gas lamps or knock over the troll leg umbrella stand. A numbing wind blew through the still open door and down the hall, making the lights flicker and the occupants shiver.

"Bloody hell," moaned Ron, he was rubbing furiously at his arms, "Is someone going to shut the door, or are we all going to stand here and freeze?" he asked, as they shuffled further down the hall, away from the cold and out of the doorway.

"Tut-tut, needn't whine Ronnie-kins," said Fred somewhere to Ron's left.

"Lay off George, just shut the sodding door," grumbled Ron.

Fred rolled his eyes and kicked the door shut, which startled Ginny, who almost dropped Crookshanks.  
"Sorry Gin and I'm not George, he's George. I'm Fred; honestly, you called yourself our brother."

The muttered conversation ended as Mrs. Weasley came bustling out of the kitchen; she immediately started to herd the group down the stone steps. Harry ended up somewhere near the back with one of the twins. He was desperately craning his neck looking for Sirius. By the time they had been hurried out of the dark hall and down into the warmer and more habitable kitchen, Harry's excitement had already begun to deflate.

By the time dinner started it was completely gone. A melancholy fell over Harry; the disappointment of Sirius's absence was crushing. He disappeared up stairs half way through dessert, pleading exhaustion. He just wanted to be able to sulk for a bit and didn't want to be made to feel bad about leaving dinner.

Harry knew that Hermione would come to check on him as soon as she could. She may not know why he was upset, but she would want to try to help, as well as scold him for being moody and dramatic. She'd tell him he should just tell her and Ron whatever was bothering him so they could help, and then inform him it was rude to leave dinner.  
He bypassed his and Ron's room; that was the first place she would look. He continued up the squeaky stairs to the third landing. Harry made his way toward the back of the house, and let himself into the huge library. He crossed the foreboding room, ignoring all the rare and intriguing books, heading toward the back left corner and stepping into the small room he'd found that summer.

Here he could be totally alone; only Sirius knew of the room and Harry doubted that he'd be looking for him any time soon.

The room was darker then it had been in the summer; dusk had fallen and the single gas lamp hadn't been lit. A new layer of dust coated the room, but Harry didn't mind it nor did he mind the dim hazy light.  
He let the door slam behind him as he threw himself moodily on to the old day bed, making the joints creak in protest. He laid face down, head buried in his arms.

He inhaled the dust that coated the fabric and started to cough and sputter. He turned his head to look out the big windows at the dull grey sky and the falling snow, and sourly thought that the weather certainly did reflect his mood.

When Sirius had dozed off that morning, his head had rested awkwardly against the wall, and his back was bent at a very uncomfortable angle. He had slept through most of the daily commotion, but the door smashing closed made him shutter to life. His bleary grey eyes opened, his vision foggy as he took in the dust filled room. He froze when he noticed the figure lying on that fucking daybed

Sirius felt exceedingly useless as he hadn't known Harry was arriving. Now he frantically wished he had an idea of what to say, how to make this better. But seeing as he was totally unprepared, he was going to have to wing it. Man it up and go sit next to Harry on that god freaking awful daybed.

But before he could do that, he'd have to get up. Slowly, Sirius pulled himself up, wincing as blood rushed to his unused muscles. Sirius carefully un-cramped himself as he stood. Once fully upright, he pushed his dark hair from his face.

Harry hadn't noticed him yet.  
Sirius gathered himself together as much he could and stepped forward, just as his overworked blood reached his head. He stumbled backward, and nosily crashed into the wall.  
His head spun horribly, and he slumped against the wall behind him, preventing his stiff legs from giving out.

Harry's head jerked up, and he twisted his body around to search for the source of the noise. He had been sure he was alone. Wide green eyes scanned the room eventually landing on Sirius.  
Sirius was still using the wall for support and was holding his still spinning head.

"Sirius?" asked Harry meekly. He was lost, unsure of what to think or how to feel.  
Sirius pushed his dark unruly hair out of his face and he looked at Harry. He gingerly stood straight, still rubbing at his temples.  
"Hey," he paused. "Sorry I wasn't down stairs. I, uh, fell asleep," he finished lamely.

Harry wasn't sure if that excused Sirius absence, but he watched his godfather, apparently suffer from a right foul hangover.  
"Are you alright?" asked Harry, slightly worried.

"I'll be in a mo, just a bit of head rush is all." Sirius grinned sheepishly at him. He made his way toward Harry and the daybed_**, **_getting steadier on his feet the closer he came. Sirius sat on the end near Harry's feet.  
Harry moved to the other end of the daybed, pulling his knees to his chest, eyes watching Sirius's every move.

Frustrated, Sirius tugged at his hair and desperately asked, "Are you upset with me?"  
Which he knew was stupid as it was obvious Harry was, and Sirius was sure he knew why, he just thought maybe if would be better than sitting in crushing silence. He was starting to think he'd thought wrong.

Harry looked at his feet; he started speaking slowly, "I was so excited to come. To see you. But then you weren't there. And I'm not really sure of anything really. I'm not angry really, just sort of sad." He paused, and looked up at Sirius, "But I'm glad you're here now."

A wave of guilt engulfed Sirius; Harry sat looking forlorn, with his knees pulled to his chest, until Sirius took him into his arms. Sirius held him close, Harry's face resting just below his shoulder, and buried his face in Harry's thick black hair. Sirius held him so close, unwilling to let him go, and totally unable to convey what he wanted with words.

"To hell with it, to hell with it all," he muttered and kissed Harry soundly. Cradling him, he whispered in the boy's ear, "This summer, we'll go to Paris, I promise."


End file.
